I Had to See Her Again
by Bixata
Summary: Preseries, Jack is injured on the Iraqi border and has to save himself.  What he endured and how he made it back, recalling his life with his wife Sara.  JackSara


Spoilers: Season 1 - Cold Lazarus, Solitudes Season 2 - The Gamekeeper

Warning: Rated T for mild language, severe injuries, and references to sex, non-graphic

This story was inspired from a scene in Solitudes while Carter is splinting O'Neill's broken leg and he tells her about the time he fractured his skull. His motivation for getting home was..."Sara. I had to see her again." This is my take on what could have happened, and his memories of Sara that got him through it.

This is a Jack/Sara story.

**I Had to See Her Again**

Major Jack O'Neill was unconscious the second he hit the ground. He'd barely felt the crack in his left shin, the snap in his right knee, before his head slammed into a protruding rock and he was out for the count.

The desert night was cold. Wildlife came out during this time, the interlude between the blazing heat of days, when only the insane or the well adapted would dare venture out of the shadows. They smelled his blood, tasted it, each taking their share of the appetizer yet leaving the meal to the larger beasts.

It was the hot sun that finally brought him back to consciousness. That, and the overwhelming pain throughout his entire body. He was in full gear, unsheltered, and he was well into the stages of shock.

He tried to remember. There was a mission. One of those missions that never really happen. Covert, yes, special op, black op. His job, his duty. Just him. Solo mission. He was good at those, always came through in the end, no matter what they asked of him. That's why he was here now.

Iraq. Iran. The border. Strictly recon. A possible hostage situation. They needed intel, but he was authorized to free any American or Allied prisoners as he saw fit. He had leniency like that. He'd earned it. He'd risked his career to get it. A soldier follows orders, but he was too quick on his feet for that, too aware of the world around him, of the damage he could do and the lives he could save.

He was good at saving lives. That's what made him the best. He could improvise, twist his orders just enough to do what needed to be done but still be able to look at himself in the mirror the next morning, to go home and make love to his wife, his Sara, knowing he was still the good guy, that he still deserved someone so innocent and strong and beautiful and loving.

So they sent him in. They made the drop at 0200, local time, using the darkness of night to mask his arrival.

He should have checked the 'chute himself. He should have packed it himself. Too late for that. He had timed it perfectly, and he knew it. His parachute opened too late and he hit the ground, hard.

He was out for ten hours.

The pain came first, then sound, the wind blowing the sand around him, into his clothes, his nose, his eyes. His eyes remained firmly shut but the light from the overhead sun penetrated his eyelids, and he would have sworn someone had just slammed a railroad spike through his head.

But he didn't move. He concentrated on breathing, on his surroundings, on deadening the pain. On determining the damage.

His left leg was broken. He knew it immediately, without question. He didn't know the extent of the damage, but he doubted it was a simple fracture. His right knee throbbed with every beat of his heart. He must have torn something. Felt like he'd shattered his kneecap but he doubted it. Probably a tendon or ligament from the impact. He could manage that. His arms were the best off, seemingly undamaged by the quick stop he'd experienced though every fiber of his being ached. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into his warm, comfy bed with Sara and sleep for a month.

Which brought him to his head.

Skull fracture. He knew it without knowing it, there was no possible way that he could have hit that rock as hard as he had and get anything less than a cracked skull. Which meant he really shouldn't allow himself to fall back asleep again.

But he hurt!

He knew pain, he'd been shot and stabbed, broke both his arms and been briefly tortured before his pal Charlie Kawalsky managed to break him out, and this was by far the most agonizing experience of his life.

He just wanted it to end.

But then he thought of Sara. Sara O'Neill, his wife, the woman he loved more than life itself, who loved him for all the world and promised to show him for every day of his life. She was the most amazing woman he had ever met. So strong, so caring, so loyal. She waited for him faithfully, and he knew she hated his job that kept him away from her, that put him in harm's way but she supported him regardless. She dreaded the day he may never come back, and he had promised that he would always find his way back to her, to her love, her warmth, their life together. Because he was a man deeply in love with his wife.

He had to see her again, to show her that he was worth it, that his allegiance wasn't to the good old Red White and Blue, but to her. To Sara O'Neill. And he would get back to her if he had to crawl every agonizing mile in the desolate heat to do it.

His course decided and determined, he slowly opened his eyes.

He slammed them shut even quicker. The spike in his head was joined by a hammer, an anvil, and a grand piano. He wanted to cry out but he knew that he couldn't, that it was too dangerous here, he could compromise his position. He couldn't risk being captured.

Very slowly he lifted his hand to his chest and pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. He gingerly placed them over his face and tried once again to open his eyes. The pain was still there, nauseating, but it was manageable. As his eyes adjusted he saw the clear blue sky. Slowly and cautiously he turned his head but the movement was too much and he retched on the ground beside him. His movement sent spasms through his knee, his shin, his head, his back and chest, and he could do nothing but lay there for several minutes.

Thoughts of Sara played in his consciousness. His lovely Sara. They were great together, everybody knew it. Jack was smitten with her from the day he met her, and it became his purpose in life to make sure they fell in love. He was sure they had when he returned from a botched mission in Eastern Russia, his commanding officer was killed, the intel had been absurdly inaccurate and they hadn't accomplished a single mission objective. Only he and Charlie made it back, ashamed of failure, bitter at the loss of their friend and leader.

But Sara was there for him, through the nightmares and the anger and the mourning. She didn't ask about it, knew he couldn't tell her, but she had met his CO and his wife Barbara at a team barbecue where Jack had been given the honor, or the chore, of preparing the meat and had thoroughly amused them all by pouring his beer over the steaks. And he wasn't even drunk. But now, Sara could see the pain and the loss in his dark brown eyes when he returned from that mission, and she wanted nothing more than to make it go away.

They made love for the first time. He had refused at first, told her he wanted their first time to be special, not tainted by his bitterness and anger. He had been gentle about it, incapable of even arguing with her, and at that moment he realized he was really and truly in love with her.

He had held her loving face between his palms, caressing the softness of her cheeks, wiping away the tears she shed at knowing he was in pain. He told her that he loved her, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life and all eternity with her. He knew he had to say it now, before he could even think of accepting her so tempting off, which he craved more and more the longer she gazed into his eyes.

His heart had jumped when she smiled and kissed him, her loving flyboy, and as she hugged him to her chest and stroked his back she whispered in his ear that she loved him too.

That's when then both snapped, and his mouth sought hers out in a searing and passionate kiss as he pushed her back onto the couch, his hands tangled in her lovely hair, her hands wrapped around his waist. Their love was passionate and tender, fiery and gentle, and he had never felt a greater sense of belonging than when he held her in his arms while they slept, loving her, everything about her, and when he awoke in the morning, or rather the early afternoon, and found she was still there, tucked away in his loving embrace, he knew it wouldn't be long before he asked her to marry him.

He thought of that night now, and how she had helped him through the pain and loss, not because she felt sorry for him but because she loved him and she couldn't bear to see him in such pain. He wondered what she would think of him now. How she would help him through this one. And he had no doubt that she would. Even after five years they were more in love than ever before, and although they had their ups and downs, considerably more ups than the relatively few downs, he had no doubt in his mind that nothing would ever tear them apart.

Under the blazing hot sun he sweltered in his full gear, the faulty parachute rolling in the wind behind him. With Sara's face firmly in his mind he slowly sat up, keeping his legs stretched out in front of him. He bit back the cry of agony, instead whimpering softly as he removed his pack. He found his water and took a small sip, swirling it in his mouth before swallowing it, knowing he couldn't waste a single drop of the precious liquid.

Ignoring the crusty wetness on his head, knowing there was nothing he could do with that particular wound at the moment, he slowly rolled up the left pant's leg and examined the injury. Definitely not just a fracture, he thought, as he stared at the bump in this leg that all but pierced through the skin. Looking at his right knee he could tell it was swollen, already pressing into loose material of his pants.

He wanted to cry, but knew he couldn't.

His training and survival instincts kicked into overdrive and he went to work at treating his injuries, rummaging through his pack for bandages and painkillers and disinfectant. He was prepared.

He wrapped his knee first, strapped it to try to cut back on the swelling and braced it so that it would support his weight if necessary. By the time he finished he was breathing heavily, whimpering softly at the pain in his head, his legs, everywhere. He cleaned his head wound next, pouring disinfectant over the torn scalp, washing off the blood and the sand, then wrapping a bandage around it carefully, not so much to stop the bleeding but to prevent sand and gunk from getting in the wound. He tried not to touch his fractured skull but at one point his hand slipped and the resulting pain had him retching again, though there was nothing left to give. His hands shook as he took another sip of water, knowing he'd have to stay hydrated.

Now he looked down at his broken leg. He didn't want to touch it. He didn't want to feel anymore pain, he was exhausted and weak, and he just wanted Sara. He needed Sara. She would kiss him all better with her healing touch and gentle caress. He was safe with her.

He stuck a strap in his mouth and bit down hard as he arranged his splint. He rinsed out the blood and sand with the disinfectant and took a deep steadying breath as he prepared to set the bone as best he could. Despite the strap firmly clenched between his teeth he let out a muffled scream, gasping, tears in his eyes as the immense pain washed over him. He wanted to stop but couldn't, wrapping the cloth around his leg, bracing it tightly and tying it off.

He didn't even have time to pull the strap out of his mouth before he fell unconscious, lost in the warm blanket of nothingness.

He awoke hours later with the sun in his eyes, sweat soaking his light camo fatigues, and the ever-present pain coursing through his body.

He was miserable. He just wanted it all to end, to feel nothing, no pain, no heat, nothing but relief. But he thought of Sara and couldn't imagine leaving her behind like that. He had to try, for her, and that thought gave him strength he didn't know he had.

He remembered the day he met her parents. It was their first Christmas spent together and she was so excited for her parents to meet him, her fiancé. They arrived the day before Christmas Eve. His right arm was in a sling, he'd strained his shoulder on a rough landing from a fast moving vehicle in South America.

He remembered her mother's warm and welcoming smile as he puller her into a one-armed hug, thanking her profusely for raising such an amazing woman. He could see the wry amusement in her father's eyes as they shook hands, Jack using his left hand as though it were completely natural that he hadn't a right one.

Then Sara tucked herself into his side, wrapping her arms around his waist and gazing up at him as he smiled down at her affectionately. Her mother invited them inside and they sat down together on the couch. Sara had pulled her feet up beside her and snuggled against his chest while he absent-mindedly stroked her hair, her shoulder, her elbow, while he talked with his soon-to-be in-laws. He had kept his answers brief for the most part, he was an intensely private man, but he tried his best to open up to her family because they were important to her and therefore they were important to him.

They asked about his job. They knew he was a Captain in the Air Force, that much Sara had told them, and that he was sent on missions frequently though generally not long term. He explained he was in Special Ops and didn't get much further than that when her father, Mike, flinched and grimaced. He obviously didn't approve of the lifestyle but he didn't say anything about it.

The conversation had gone downhill from there when they asked about his family. Like Sara, he was an only child. His father had passed away when he was seven and he was raised by his mother and grandfather in the backwoods of Minnesota. His grandfather was an Air Force veteran, served during World War II in the Pacific Islands and Jack had been raised on the old man's fascinating stories, most of them false and patently embellished but he hung on every word. He'd joined the Air Force as soon as he was able at seventeen, and caught the tail end of the Vietnam War.

Her parents didn't disapprove of him outright, just his past, so they reserved judgment on him until they could get to know him better.

The next day Sara's aunt and uncle had arrived with her cousins. Her oldest cousin had two children, a four-year old girl and a six-month old boy.

It was love at first sight.

Sara had never seen Jack around kids and half expected him to recoil in terror at the prospect of putting up with two screaming children. Instead, she found she had to vie for his attention, so devoted was he to the young girl and the playful baby boy that even Sara couldn't drag him away. The girl never left his side and the little boy cried and put up a fuss when he was taken away from Jack's arms.

Sara had told him he would make a great father and he didn't argue with her. He would love to have children. She could see it in his eyes how happy he was around the children and so on Christmas Eve, after unwrapping half their presents that night and leaving the rest for the morning, as they snuggled in her old bedroom, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her holding her close, she promised him that someday he would be the father of her children.

They would have tried right then if her parents hadn't been sleeping in the room next door.

Christmas day he was officially welcomed into the family, her parents satisfied that, although he lived a dangerous life and had a questionable past and unforeseeable future, they had never seen their daughter happier and more fulfilled than when he was with her. They would be proud to have him for a son-in-law.

He immediately called them Mom and Dad, much to their amusement, while Sara silenced him with an earth-shattering kiss.

God, he wished she were here now. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to know that she would make everything all right.

He buried his parachute under the sand, whimpering softly as he did his work efficiently and by the book without much thought. He tried to hide the evidence of his landing and condition, covering his blood and vomit with sand.

Then he began to crawl.

The going was slow but he didn't have anything to use as a crutch. There was nothing he could do to hide his tracks, but hopefully the wind would blow sand over them. His knee throbbed and screamed at him for putting weight on it but it was nothing compared to the ache in his head and the sharp pain of jagged bone piercing his skin.

He checked his watch and the sun to set his course, knowing his current location from the drop and where he had to go for safe extraction.

He didn't get very far before passing out again.

This time when he awoke it was dark and cold. The chill helped to numb the ache of his injuries but did little for the muscle strain caused by his impact with the ground. He downed more pain meds with a sip of water and resumed his steady crawl, pulling himself forward with just his arms and a push of his right foot, knowing it was safer to travel by night and rest during the day.

As he crawled his thoughts pulled back to Sara. He wondered what she was doing right now. It would still be daytime there. Maybe she'd be at work. She always worked when he was away to take her mind off worrying about what kind of danger he was in. She'd work overtime, too, so that she could be with him for almost every minute he could be home.

She had quit her previous job soon after they'd been married when they didn't let her take a week off to be with him. She didn't regret it in the least, and to be honest, neither did he. They didn't really need the money, the Air Force would take care of them, but they had been talking about having a family even before they were married and they were saving up as much as they could.

They'd been trying to have a child for three years now, and it hurt so badly to see her expression when they saw other children, the longing in her eyes. Every time he came home he hoped that she would break the happy news to him, her face disappearing in her happy smile as it did the day they were married, and the first time they made love as husband and wife. He wanted so badly to give her a child, someone to keep her company when he couldn't be there, to love and take care of and cherish. And he wanted to be a father, wanted it as much as he had wanted to be Sara's husband.

Yes, he wanted to have a child with her more than anything, which meant he had to get home to her. He had to see her again. He loved her smile, her laugh, the way her eyes twinkled when she was happy. He loved her attitude and her strength and how she balanced them with compassion and the tiniest bit of vulnerability just for him. She wasn't the kind of woman who needed a knight in shining armor, but that didn't mean she'd turn him away.

And he thanked every God in the Heavens for that small blessing. Otherwise they'd have never gotten past hello.

She was being mugged when they met, and although at the time it was a frightening experience these days he swore he'd look those thieves up and treat them to a fancy dinner for what their greed and social misconduct had given him.

He had been strolling along the streets of Chicago in the early evening, just after sundown. He hadn't truly returned to the city of his birth since he'd moved to Minnesota to live with his grandfather. Kawalsky had convinced him to come. His New Yorker buddy had never even been to Chicago, so Jack took pity on him and the two made a road trip of it.

The trip also gave them time to bond outside of work. Jack had learned early on that the easiest way to learn to trust someone was to be their friend. This wasn't strictly encouraged in special ops, but it really did make the job easier knowing that your buddy wasn't ever going to leave you behind.

Well, Charlie had sure left him behind tonight, with a cute little redhead attached to his arm. Kawalsky was a charmer but he was still the kind of guy you would trust with your baby sister.

Jack was really too shy to be much of a ladies man. Oh, he had his options, he was an incredibly handsome young man and conditioned well beyond Air Force standards. He just didn't really care for small talk, or talk of any kind really, unless there was someone else there to break the ice. Conversations weren't one of his stronger points.

However, rescuing the damsel in distress, now that he could do.

He heard the scuffle before he rounded the corner but was surprised by the scene, nonetheless.

He saw the assailants first and knew exactly what they were trying to do. His training kicked in and he searched the area for others and, sensing none, he scanned the two thieves. One was holding a small handgun, the other had a knife and between them was a young woman, maybe a few years younger than himself, and although he could see the fear in her eyes she was calmly trying to persuade them to leave, offering them her purse, watch and earrings.

He wanted to sneak up on them but the one man had a gun and accidents could happen. He couldn't risk that with this woman's life. Silently, he pulled out the knife he kept strapped to his leg, wishing he had a more effective weapon.

Taking a deep breath, the knife concealed in his palm, he boldly rounded the corner and pretended to be surprised at seeing them. "Oh, uh, sorry to interrupt. I didn't mean to um…yeah." He exclaimed, rocking back on his heels as the man with the gun pointed it towards him instead of at the woman.

"You, get over here! Give us your wallet, out with it, now." The man waved the gun threateningly.

Jack pretended to go for his wallet then glanced at the woman and feigned recognition. "Oh, God, Honey, are you okay? They didn't hurt you did they? If you so much as laid a hand on her I'll…" He pretended to lose his nerve after taking a few steps towards them.

This boosted their confidence. "You'll what? This your sweetie, huh? You want to look tough for her?" The man with the gun took a step towards him, waving the gun under his nose. "You want to die for her?"

That's when he made his move, lightning quick, grabbing the arm that held the gun, twisting it behind the man's back between them and catching it so the gun couldn't go off. It fell from the man's grasp neatly into his expectant hand as he kneed the back of the man's knees so he fell to the ground and with one hand held his knife against the back of the man's neck, aiming the gun at the other man who'd been too shocked to react.

"Don't move!" He shouted as the man tried to retreat. "I don't want to hurt anyone but it isn't nice to threaten a lovely lady, especially one that looks like she could kick your ass in a fair fight. Get over here and on the ground or I will disable you for life."

The man stared at him in shock but obeyed nonetheless.

Both weapons still trained on the two thieves he turned to the woman who, although fear was still evident, was watching him with an intent gaze. "Sorry about the 'Honey' thing, Miss, but I had to distract them somehow. Think you could give the police a call?"

She nodded before finding her voice. "Yeah, I'll be right back."

"I saw a diner a little bit up the road. Maybe you ought to wait in there. I'll tell the cops where to find you."

She glanced at him, then at the two thieves who were sighing defeatedly, cursing. "How'd you do it?"

He smiled charmingly. "It's my job, Miss. Captain Jack O'Neill, US Air Force, at your service."

"I'm Sara." She replied softly. "Bracken." She added.

"Wish we'd met under better circumstances, Sara. You better make that call. My trigger finger's getting itchy."

She made the call but instead of waiting at the diner as he had suggested she came back and sat with him to wait. He thought she was incredibly brave. They didn't talk until she offered to hold the knife for him. He didn't hesitate in saying sure, knowing that it would scare the crap out of the thieves if she wanted revenge.

Obviously that had been her plan because she decided against it, knowing she may not be in control of her actions. He felt an unreasonable urge to kiss her then, and smiled at her appreciatively. She grinned back and relaxed as they waited for the cops.

The next few hours passed in a blur as they gave their statements to the police and he fervently tried to defend that he wasn't playing the hero, that this was what he did for a living, and he knew what he was doing.

He was dismissed about a half hour after the woman, Sara Bracken, had been so he had expected never to see her again.

He was pleasantly surprised to find her waiting for him, resting on a bench, her eyes alert for anything unusual. She smiled as he walked up to her and invited him to the diner he had recommended earlier for a cup of coffee. He didn't really like coffee then, but took her up on the offer without delay.

They spent the night talking.

It was a new experience for him, to feel so comfortable, so at ease with someone he had just met, especially a woman, but he had seen her courage and allowed himself to think that maybe she was the kind of woman he needed. Someone who could stand up for herself but wasn't afraid to let others in.

They spent the whole week together, becoming fast friends. To call it dating wouldn't be entirely accurate because there were no expectations. She wore sweats and he wore jeans, they didn't hold hands or gaze at each other, he didn't bring her flowers and she didn't' invite him over. They met up with Kawalsky and had a great time together, Charlie instantly putting her at ease with that city boy charm of his.

By the end of the week he would have sworn they'd been friends for years. He was reluctant to leave, and he could see that she was hesitant to let him go. They exchanged contact information, she gave him her address and phone number, essentially leaving their future up to him.

There was something in her eyes that almost convinced him to quit the Air Force and plant his roots right there in Chicago. She didn't expect to see him again. But she really, really wanted to. Charlie was waiting for him in the car, watching as Jack took the slip of paper with her numbers and she smiled at him knowingly.

He glanced at the numbers, memorizing them quickly, then took out his wallet and tucked it safely away behind his military ID. When he looked up at her he recited the numbers to her and was delighted by the look on her face, shocked and hopeful. Dreamy, maybe?

"I'll give you a call, Sara. You aren't getting away from me that easily."

He kissed her. He hadn't planned to, but she was looking at him with her hopeful eyes and suddenly he couldn't stop himself. It was tender and soft, nearly platonic, but he was letting her know that he had plans for them. She smiled so beautifully when he pulled away.

"You going to come back and finish that some day, Flyboy?" She asked cheekily and his heart leapt with the first signs of love that he had ever experienced.

"Yeah sure ya betcha." He drawled, laying his Minnesota drawl on thick as he gently caressed her cheek with his rough, callused thumb. "My next leave is in a couple months. Can I come see you?"

She smiled, her eyes shining brilliantly with unshed tears and hope. "I'd like that."

"You sure? Because I get the feeling that when I come back I'm going to want to be a little more than friends." He grabbed her hand, stroking it lovingly with his fingers. "You're going to have to at least let me hold your hand and give you a hug, and who knows, I may even spring for a fancy dinner. I'll bet you're even more stunning than you already are when you're all dressed up."

He hadn't meant to say any of that but it all just came out of its own volition. Apparently his heart knew exactly what to say because she had crushed herself into his chest, her arms around his waist, her face against his shoulder.

"You better come back to me, Jack O'Neill."

He laughed, kissing the top of her head as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He leaned back and stroked her face, smiling into her warm, beautiful eyes. "Count on it."

The kiss was mutual this time, and much deeper, promising more to come much later. He licked his lips after she pulled away first, tasting her, imprinting her image, her taste, her smell in his mind.

"You should go." She said timidly, embarrassed.

"Hey." He said softly and she looked up at him. "I'll be back. Do I have a chance with you?"

She looked so confused, and his heart beat rapidly at the sight of her. "Jack?"

God, he loved it when she said his name. "When I come back, if we got together…Could you love me enough to stay with me? I'm not asking for a commitment right now, I'm just asking if I've got potential. Because honest to God if I allow myself to fall in love with you I couldn't stand not being with you."

She silenced him with another kiss. "I get the feeling that when you come back I'll never let you go."

He gazed into her eyes, hardly believing his good fortune to find someone like Sara. "I think I'd like that." He hugged her again. "I have to go." He said, without moving.

"I know." She cuddled in closer, holding him more tightly.

"I'll call you when I get to the base. I'll keep in touch."

"Promise?"

"I promise. I have to go."

"I know."

He chuckled at his own inability to pull away form her. "I get the felling I'm the luckiest man on Earth. You really are remarkable, Sara Bracken."

"So are you, Jack O'Neill. My hero." She grinned into his chest. "I told my parents about you. They warned me about your kind."

"My kind?"

"Flyboy. Honorable, dutiful, loyal, committed. Handsome."

"Your parents think I'm handsome?" He asked cheekily.

She slapped his arm. "Idiot. I think you're very handsome. That smile of yours. Irish smile. I think my heart leapt out of my chest when I first saw your smile."

He smiled for her. "Your heart's doing crazy things too, eh? Thought it was just me. So you'll wait for me?"

She smiled. "I'll wait for you. If you promise to come back for me."

"I promise. If I had anything to give you, I would. Oh!" He scrambled for a piece of paper and a pen and wrote something down on it. He handed it to her. It was the address to his grandfather's cabin in Minnesota.

"What is it?" She asked, knowing it wasn't an address where she could send letters to him.

"It's a very special place to me. My grandfather's cabin. It's home, I guess. He left it to me. I just wanted you to know where it is. That it's there and what it means to me. And I would love to take you there sometime."

"Oh, Jack." She wasn't crying, but he knew that the second he was gone she would let the tears fall.

"It's fast, but I'm desperate here. I don't want to lose you, Sara."

"You won't. I'll see you in a couple months."

"Yeah. Darn right you will. Don't walk alone at night, you hear? Matter of fact, stay inside all the time. Never leave this house."

She laughed. "You take care of yourself, Jack. Come back in one piece, okay?"

"You got it, Miss Sara. You got it."

He kissed her one final time, releasing her hand reluctantly as he joined Charlie in the car.

"Don't even say it." He growled before Charlie could say anything, but his friend was remarkably silent.

They drove in silence until they were well away from the city of Chicago before Charlie spoke, not teasingly, and surprisingly serious. "You really like her, don't you?"

"Yeah, Charlie, I really like her." He admitted with a sigh.

"That's great, man. What's the problem?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, come on, Jack. Don't give me that. I'd have been thrilled to get the sendoff you just got."

"That's the problem. It was a sendoff."

"Oh. So you won't be seeing her again?"

"Hell no, I'm coming back my next leave."

"Then what's the problem?"

He smiled humorlessly. "I didn't want to leave her."

"Oh, Jack, buddy, you got it bad."

"Don't I know it."

"You think it's going to be serious?"

He sighed heavily, leaning his head back against the head rest. "I'm going to marry her someday."

"Yeah?" For some reason Charlie didn't doubt it.

He closed his eyes, smiling. "Coming home to someone like Sara? Might just be something to fight for."

The nausea caught in his throat as he continued his steady crawl across the burning desert, pausing only to catch his breath when the pain was too much.

_I'm coming back, Sara. I'm coming back to you._

He dragged himself all night and into the morning before he stopped to rest his arms. He lay flat on his stomach, pulling out an energy bar and chewing a quarter of it, sticking the rest back in his chest pocket. He took another sip of water, forcing himself not to drink it all. The pain in his head was all but blinding and the bright sun rising in the sky was creating white flashes in his vision. The sand was repelled by his sunglasses but the sun still refused to back down and admit defeat.

He was tired but he knew he shouldn't sleep. It wasn't safe in his condition, nor was it safe given his location and environment. His arms were heavy and when he tried to pull his body along again he discovered that he was too weak to keep this up. He bit back the agony he knew was coming as he pushed himself up onto his left knee and with a trembling sigh, carefully set his right knee on the ground as well.

His right knee was so swollen he couldn't feel a thing. He let out a deliberate breath, thanking God for this small mercy and began crawling on all fours rather than dragging himself with his arms with his chest plowing through the sand. His left foot dragged along the ground, shifting and jarring his shin but there was nothing he could do about it. He tried to stay off his right knee as much as possible, sometimes putting his foot down instead and scrambling, but the weight on the joint was even worse than the pressure straight on the knee cap.

He crawled straight through the day and into the night, rejuvenated once the sun set and Earth cooled but by no means in good shape. The going was slow, his knees ached, his palms were raw from touching the burning hot sand, his arms burned at the strain and demands he had placed on them over the last two days, his back and shoulders threatened to collapse at the stress, and a nine-piece New Orleans jazz combo had set up residence in his skull.

He refused to sleep, knowing that if he stopped now he may never get going again. He didn't even have the capacity to think anymore. He was beyond exhaustion, beyond the typical limits of human endurance, adrenaline and determination alone keeping him going. That, and the picture of Sara at the back of his mind.

Just before sun-up he finished off the energy bar, washing it down with a gulp of water. Heat exhaustion was setting in from his previous two days in the sun and his non-stop labor. He drank another sip of water greedily, knowing he'd have to find water soon. He only had one other water canteen.

By his judgment he had managed to travel no more than fifteen miles. By his calculation, at that rate, he still had maybe ten days to go before he could reach the nearest American base, unless he could find a way to speed up his pace. If he could fashion a pair of crutches he might actually make some significant progress.

Where were those blasted trees when you needed them?

He'd been out there for five days now. Five grueling days of agony and confusion, thirst and hunger. He had found some water, or at least he thought he had, but at this point it was anyone's guess whether he had actually consumed water or sand.

He had just slept through the entire day, waking up just as the sun slipped behind the horizon. He had been lost and disoriented, forgetting where he was and what had happened to him. As sleep abandoned him the pain returned, reinforced by his ruthless batterment and demands placed on his aching body.

He rolled onto his back and looked up at the stars. There was something comforting about them.

He remembered the night he and Sara had laid together, looking up at the night sky. They'd been married a year and for their anniversary he took her to his cabin in Minnesota. They wrapped themselves in a single blanket, holding each other as they gazed up at the stars. They made up their own constellations, pointing them out to each other and laughing softly at some of the more ridiculous ones they came up with. Fruit salad. Bald lady. Tooth brush.

Soul mates.

He had surprised her with that one, and when she looked at him to see where he found that one in the sky, she was met with this soulful brown eyes intently gazing at her face.

She had always been fascinated by his eyes. He carried so much emotion there, so much passion that despite his best efforts as an impassionate Air Force officer, he could never hide. He could smile with just his eyes, and through them she could see just how much he loved her. How he practically worshipped her.

His eyes betrayed him now as they shed the tears of his misery. He was in so much pain, he just wanted it to end, but he had to see Sara again. Oh God, he missed her. He missed her face, her touch, her scent. He missed the comfort of her arms. He missed the pain medication. He missed his good legs, his unfractured skull, he missed cool, clear water and fine steak dinners.

He missed hope.

He wasn't sure what set him off, but he felt overwhelming anger course through his body. Frustrated and exhausted, he sat up and fixed the splint on his leg roughly, tearing his pack apart for an extra splint and wrapping the newly reinforced splint on as tight as he could. He fixed the wrap on his knee, noting that the swelling had increased and the skin around it looked an incredibly unhealthy dark blue. He didn't care.

With anger and frustration rampaging through his veins he heaved himself up onto his feet and took several steps before crashing to the ground in agony. Screaming obscenities at the sand he pushed himself back up and this time managed to stay on his feet more or less, putting most of his weight on his right leg as he took faltering steps forward.

He made fifteen miles that night before collapsing to the ground and falling unconscious.

He awoke at high noon with his face turned up to the sun. His baked flesh crackled as he opened his eyes, his nose burned, his cheeks peeling and cracking already. His gear and bandages covered his neck and ears, the only exposed flesh was his face and hands. He positioned the sunglasses over his eyes and nearly screamed at the contact but decided it was nothing more than an annoyance, relatively speaking.

Taking a huge gulp of water and finishing off his second energy bar he resumed his steady crawl across the desert sands, his head down, protected from the suns rays. His body was overheated, he knew it, but there was nothing he could do so he ignored the steady nausea, refusing to throw up what precious few liquids he had left.

That night he walked again, occasionally shuffling on his hands, bent at the waist, to take weight off his broken leg. His palms were bleeding raw now after so much time in the hot sand. He wrapped bandages around them to keep the sand out as much as possible but they did little good.

By morning he could stand no more and was reduced to an all but sedentary crawl. It took several minutes just to manage a few feet. He knew he had to be close by now. He'd made the calculations. He'd covered more ground during his nightly walks, which should have cut back the time needed to get to friendly soil. By the ninth day his thoughts were flooded with nothing but Sara. His progress was almost at a standstill, managing less than a quarter mile in an hour. He just didn't have the strength anymore, with nothing but his arms and right foot to haul him forward.

Something brushed against his face and he looked up to see Sara smiling down at him, having planted a soft and encouraging kiss on his cheek. "Hey Honey." He heard her voice on the wind. "Why don't you give me a call?"

He mumbled her name incoherently.

"Jack, Honey. Give me a call."

He looked up at her with a pained expression, wishing he could do just that, hear her sweet, loving voice, so strong, so rich. He pulled himself closer to her, reaching out to touch her but she wasn't there. He dropped his head to the ground and was surprised when it went further than he expected. He lifted his head and examined the cause.

Deep tracks in the sand. Tire tracks. Combat vehicle tire tracks. That meant…That meant he had to be close. He scanned the horizon and there, straight ahead, he thought he saw something shimmering, a dot of black, a reflection, something.

Taking Sara's advice he made a call, pulling out a signal flare and igniting it, shooting it off into the sky. He sat there for a moment, watching it, thinking how pretty it looked, not really caring who saw it as long as someone came and got him out of this nightmare. He drank the last of his water, barely a sip, and went for all or nothing, resuming his steady though ineffectual body drag.

He heard them before he saw them, barely able to lift his head. They slowed down as they approached, obviously unsure of which side he was on, and he forced himself to sit up. Two jeeps stopped in front of him several hundred meters and a dozen men jumped out.

He lazily pulled down his glasses to stare at them, wondering if they were really there. To be on the safe side he pulled his weapon off of his pack and held it up non-threateningly, then tossed it to the side, a laborious effort. Then he reached into his worn and filthy shirt and pulled out his tags.

Two men approached him, while the others circled around him, all of them armed. He stared up at them.

"Who are you and what are you doing out here?" The shorter one asked.

His tongue was thick in his mouth as he tried to form the proper words. "Major Jack O'Neill. US Air Force. Special Forces. I regret to inform you my mission objectives were not completed." He smiled hysterically. "Or even attempted." He started giggling uncontrollably.

"Pull yourself together, Major."

He did.

"What happened to you, son?"

"Damn parachute opened late. I hit the ground. It hurt."

"How long have you been out there?" The man asked, stepping closer and clearly concerned.

"Nine days I think. Is Sara here?"

"Sara? Who's Sara?"

"My wife. I thought I saw her. She told me to call her."

"Major O'Neill. Did you hit your head?"

"I broke my skull. It hurts. Grandpa always said I had a thick skull."

"You fractured your skull?"

"I broke my leg." He added helpfully, pointing down at his leg. "I couldn't walk much. My knee is swollen." He pointed at the other leg. "It hurt to crawl but I had to see Sara. Is she here?"

"No, son, I'm afraid she isn't."

"Oh. Do you know where I can find her?"

"We'll give her a call, son. We'll let her know where you are. Major, I need you to listen to me, and I need you to concentrate. Who is your commanding officer and what were your mission objectives?"

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Mission is classified. My CO is Colonel Strummond. I apologize for my behavior but I've only had two bottles of water and two power bars in the last nine days, I just crawled and walked almost 100 miles with a broken leg and whatever the crap is wrong with my knee, my head hurts like there's a rabid gorilla loose in my skull and he's high on caffeine, my face is burnt, my hands are torn up, I haven't had a decent night's sleep in weeks aside from being unconscious, and I'm in a lot of freaking pain. And with all due respect…I'm going to pass out in about 30 seconds from physical and heat exhaustion. I would be much obliged if you found me a nice quiet bunk to sleep in for the next month while all the lovely doctors patch me up, perform their surgeries, and shove liquids and vitamins in me all the livelong day. Requesting permission to take it easy now, sir."

With that, he passed out.

"Permission granted, Major O'Neill. Job well done."

The men gathered around the wounded airman, carefully lifting him into one of the vehicles avoiding but supporting his head and both legs.

Back at the base the whispers spread like wildfire with nobody really knowing the full truth but all impressed by the young Major's trying experience.

Jack lay unconscious in an infirmary bed where they pumped him full of fluids, stabilized his broken leg, released the pressure in his knee by removing the excess fluid, cleaned and bandaged his hands, and treated the burns on his face, checking for any damage to his eyes. By the end he lay there in nothing but his boxer shorts, with casts and bandages as needed, including one around his head, where some of his hair had been shaved off to check the damage to his skull.

He received 24-hour supervision until he was stabilized three days later. He had yet to wake up and the rest of the base personnel, all of them having heard one thing or another about his condition, silently wished him their best thoughts.

"_I hear he crawled here with a broken leg."_

"_I heard skull fracture."_

"_The man was obviously dehydrated and malnourished. He must have been delirious."_

"_The Captain told me he'd been out there for over a week. Even if he wasn't injured that's still impressive he survived."_

"_The medics say he isn't doing too well. Took a turn for the worse and we haven't exactly the Ritz of infirmaries. I think they're going to ship him out."_

"_The Doc said he's still unconscious."_

"_I heard he keeps calling out for his wife. Let me tell you, if I came home looking like that my wife would send me packing. Only likes undamaged goods."_

"_He was delirious when they brought him in. Asking if his wife was here, saying that he saw her."_

"_Poor guy's a mess. How do you suppose he did it?"_

Jack O'Neill became, more or less, the base mascot. Rumors flew so thick that eventually the base commander had to release an official memo detailing O'Neill's injuries. Upon full realization of the Hell the man had endured some began to write letters, to their loved ones but more importantly, to O'Neill's wife.

This wasn't a typical reaction on a military base. They didn't even know the guy, they'd never served with him, but they were awed by his will to survive, by the pain he'd endured to get home, and his clear devotion to his wife and country. And they said as much in their letters, offering words of encouragement and faith.

Five days after he had arrived at the base he was sent back to the States, still unconscious but in stable condition. Sara was there waiting.

She wasn't allowed to see him yet which really pissed her off, and she demanded to know why, if his condition was stable and he wasn't in surgery, that she couldn't see him.

The Doctor relented briefly, allowing her no more than five minutes with his patient.

As she stepped into the room and saw her husband laying there unconscious she bit back her tears and cut off her dark thoughts at his suffering.

Slowly, she sat down beside him and held his arm, surprised by the strength she felt there but comforted by it. She whispered words to him. "Come back to me. I love you. Don't you dare leave me, Jack O'Neill. Please wake up."

She sat dejectedly in the waiting room now, curled up in an uncomfortable chair, wishing she could be with her husband, when a nurse arrived with a small bag, looking oddly surprised as she asked if she was Sara O'Neill. She handed over the bag when Sara confirmed it, and explained that some of the men at the base where her husband was first treated had written letters to her.

She sat in that lifeless room reading each letter, crying softly to herself at each word. The base CO had been there when Jack was first picked up, and he told her how Major O'Neill had asked for her, had thought he'd seen her. She cried for her husband now, she cried for herself and if it were possible she had fallen even more in love with Jack O'Neill.

Angrily, she threw that letter at the Doctor who was denying her access to her husband. It briefly detailed what Jack must have done to survive, with which the Doctor was familiar, but the Major's emotional state was a complete shock to him. A moment staring at his patient's irate wife and he could understand why O'Neill clung so hard to life.

He let her stay by Jack's side now, only kicking her out when they ran their tests and performed their regular treatments. When no one was watching she curled up on the bed beside him, careful of his many injuries, nearly falling off the edge of the bed, but she wanted to be close. She needed to be close.

Walking in on this compromising position the Doctor gazed at Major and Mrs. O'Neill, wondering where she found the strength as she slept with her head on her husband's shoulder.

He had the Major transferred to a bigger bed.

From the day of his rescue, it took O'Neill nine days to regain consciousness, and if anyone had been looking for the parallelism, the irony of his nine-day torture followed by his nine-day nothingness was one for the history books.

But nobody thought about it.

She was with him when his eyes first fluttered open, but she was sound asleep, her hand lightly on his chest, her head on his shoulder. He felt her, knowing it was her even before he opened his eyes. He knew her touch, and her scent, the faint essence that was Sara O'Neill and the way her body molded so perfectly against his.

As his eyes fluttered open he tilted his head to get a look at her. His Sara. She was so beautiful, so perfect, sound asleep at his side, and in that moment he would do it all again to be with her like this. There wasn't a thing in this world that could ever tear them apart.

He shifted his arm across to touch her face, and she startled, lost for just a moment before recognition set in.

"Jack?" She whispered, almost in disbelief.

"Sara." He whispered back hoarsely, stroking her cheek.

She closed her eyes at his touch. "I love you, Jack. I was so worried."

"I came back for you."

"Yes, you did. You were so strong, Jack. So strong, and brave. I knew you'd come home. I knew you wouldn't leave me to do this on my own."

He gazed at her, confused, still sleepy. "Do what on your own?"

Her smile lit up every corner of his battered heart. "Raise our child. You're going to be a daddy."

He gaped at her, glanced down at her belly, then back at her glowing features. "We're going to have a kid?"

"I found out just after you left. I wanted to tell you."

"We're having a baby?" He repeated in disbelief.

She pulled his hand down to cover her belly. "We're finally going to be parents, Jack. I love you so much."

"Oh Sara, lovely, amazing, beautiful Sara O'Neill. You're life itself. Love you more than I can say."

Ignoring the pain, the bandages, the casts, and the IV drip still pumping a light sedative into his veins to dull the pain, he took his wife in his arms, rolling her almost on top of him, and kissed her soundly, his hand running up her shirt to touch the home of his unborn child.

Alarms screamed and a door flew open but they were lost in their own world of bliss.

"Major O'Neill, please, you shouldn't be moving. Sara, I told you not to get him so worked up." The Doctor chided, even as he smiled at the Major's wake-up call.

Sara pulled away laughing as Jack chased after her, his hand running loving circles on her stomach.

"Major, please. You need to lie still."

Jack smiled up at the Doctor with the biggest grin he'd ever seen. "Bring in the cigars and champagne, I'm going to be a father!" He exclaimed, grabbing Sara as she moved to slide off the bed. "Ah-ah, mommy, you gotta take it easy here with me. Do you know how much I love you, Sara O'Neill?"

"I've a fair idea. You just crawled through the burning desert on your hands and knees for me and our family. I'd say you're devoted."

"Entirely. Heart, mind, body and soul, just for you and the little one. Do you know anything? Boy, girl, healthy, age? Tell me everything, I want to know everything about it."

"I was waiting for you to learn more, but they say it's healthy."

"Ten fingers, ten toes, one head?"

"Yes, Jack." She laughed, music to his ears.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" He kissed her fingers.

"You loved me. You came back to me."

"I'll always come back to you."

"Major, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we need to run some tests now that you're awake to assess the damage. You hit your head pretty hard."

"Oh yeah. Hurt like a…" he glanced at her belly, "…freight train ran me down. And it was so totally worth the pain to come home to this. Test away, Doc. I want to be around for a long time to come. Just think what we'll be telling the grandkids, Sara. You're so brave, so strong to put up with a guy like me. How do you do it?"

"I think about how boring my life would be without you in it. And how happy you've made me."

"Big sap. You've going to make me cry. Oh God, we're going to be parents."

"That makes you happy?" She asked cheekily, knowing his answer.

"Happiest guy on Earth. Raising my child with the woman I love. I could live a happy man for the rest of my life."

She giggled at his alteration to the popular expressions. "I'm glad to hear that. We should let the doctor look you over." She kissed him and started to pull away but he grabbed her wrist.

"Stay with me?"

She smiled, stroking his face lovingly. "Always."


End file.
